


Lump Your Head

by A_lee_us



Series: American Tragedy [2]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Abnormality!Danny, Angst, M/M, Suicide, Tragedy, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_lee_us/pseuds/A_lee_us
Summary: "You're making a grave mistake!"Jorel is rudely awaken at 4 am by an urgent Aron, claiming that his replacement, Danny Murillo, is a mother fucking zombie who endangers the band.Warnings: angst, death, the romantic tragedy kind of thing.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is extremely crappily written. I meant for it to be a one-shot under 3,000 words. Then, I realised how that was so not plausible, given the plot and stuff. This chapter itself ended being close to 6k words. I got horridly unmotivated to write this properly, so, here, have a taste of my I-don't-give-a-fuck writing. It's crappy, I personally find it horrendous, but, whatever, I need to start building up on this series anyway.
> 
> This is a two-part story. The second chapter should be up by this Friday. It's somewhat written and plotted.
> 
> I kinda regret not putting more into this because I worked on it for four complete hours. My neck aches. Enjoy, if you can.

It had been a regular Friday night for Jorel - drink while watching TV, call up Vanessa, jack off in the shower, tumble into bed, sleep.

A perfect, uninterrupted night of comfort and leisure.

He loved Fridays. The routine that he had followed for years was impeccable. Absolute perfection. Great wind-down time.

And it certainly did not include a sudden, loud banging on his door in the wee hours of the morning.

Jorel startled awake by the first thump. It was completely dark out, save for the slivers of light that penetrated through the blinds. A bleary glance at the bedside clock told him it was 4:24 am in bold, green figures.

He yawned and was about to topple back into his mountain of pillows when the ceaseless knocking - no, banging - from downstairs registered in his mind.

Someone was at the door.

“What the fuck?” Jorel mumbled, voice rough and gravelly. He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes and scrubbed them down his face, groaning. A loud yawn muffled a groan.

He swung his leaden legs off his bed and stumbled down the short flight of stairs leading down to his front door. The house was a vacuum of darkness - and he groped the banister, squinting hard to find his way.

His front door was _shaking_.

Jorel blinked.

No, it was not vibrating like some strange anthropomorphic creature in Alice In Wonderland. It was _shuddering_ with the force of the banging from the other side.

Thump. Shake. Thump, thump, thump. Rocking on its hinges.

Restless, muffled thumps filled the air.

Whichever mother fucker decided to drop by was definitely urgent.

As Jorel fumbled with his keys, which jangled loudly in his empty home, his foggy mind tried to guess who could be visiting at such an ungodly hour. Could Jordon have gotten drunk and needed a place to stay? Did Matt break up with another girlfriend? Did George find out about-

When the door swung open, and the identity of the unwelcome visitor had registered in Jorel’s mind, the sleep-fog was ripped away. His brain clicked on - alert, suddenly very awake. And very angry.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Aron was in another one of his stupid sleeveless shirts that showed off no muscles, and ugly tattoos. He looked as irritating as ever - Jorel’s mind supplied. The bastard was still a skinny, weasel-faced, nasty-looking sunnavabitch.

Fist tight and clammy around the door knob, Jorel momentarily contemplated the worth of talking to the bastard Aron, before simply yanking the door back shut, intending to leave the other man outside, unattended. Let the arse-weasel go and cry to someone else’s home like the pussy he was.

But Aron was fast - he lunged forward, a skinny arm shooting between the door and doorway, forcing the door open.

“Jorel - _listen!_ ”

Aron ripped the door open - it violently swung outwards, banging loudly against the wall. The sound echoed into the dead of the night. A neighbour’s dog barked.

Jorel couldn’t believe the events that were happening.

“What the _fuck_ do you want, Aron?” He hissed, narrowing his eyes and positioning himself into the most threatening pose he could, blocking off his doorway, barring entry to the place he had once welcomed the other man into without hesitation.

The ex-lead singer looked anxious. Worry lines creased his brows and his mouth was pulled into a thin line. There were other emotions written on his narrow face, too - Jorel noted. The slight twist of his lips indicated his bitterness. The way he was not looking at Jorel directly showed shame.

But Aron clearly had something to say. However, Jorel didn’t want to listen.

“Jorel, please, I’m here to warn you ‘bout something!”

Jorel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and irritation. Who did _Aron_ , who had broken his trust, sundered the band, and ruined their own friendship, think he was? What right did he have to think that Jorel would still depend on him for safety? Jorel was doing perfectly fine without a certain weasel-faced bastard!

“I’m warning you about something too, Aron. Leave my property. Now.” He growled, voice dripping with malice and pure unfriendliness.

But Aron did not falter, did not flinch. Instead, he stepped _towards_ Jorel, both arms raised, to show he held no weapons.

“It’s about your new singer - Daniel,” Aron insisted, voice going high, voicing a pressing need to communicate.

Maybe Jorel would have listened to Aron a year ago. Hell, maybe he would have listened to Aron a few months ago. But now? Fuck that.

Jorel’s vision burned red.

“Fuck off, Aron. We _chose_ him to replace you. Don’t come whining for your place back in the band just because we found someone else.”

The words were wholly meant to sting and cut into Aron as much as possible. Aron was still unforgiven in Jorel’s eyes. He wanted the other to suffer, to hurt, to pain like he had.

He did feel a sense of satisfaction, horridly riddled with ice-cold guilt, when pain flashed over Aron’s features. The other male quickly recovered, forcing his hurt look away in a split second.

“You’re making a grave mistake!” Aron cried.

Jorel arched an eyebrow.

“He - Daniel Murillo,” Aron’s eyes were wild, his volume increasing with excitement and urgency, “is a fucking _zombie!_ ”

Now, there were many things Jorel had expected Aron to say. He had imagined that Aron would spout some BS on their new lead singer, or talk down on him. Maybe Aron would have brought up some shitty news about the lead singer being a fuck boy or whatever. Whatever Jorel had been expecting - he had not been expecting _that_.

So he snorted and began laughing.

“What-” Jorel began, snorting, “the actual Hell, Aron? What do you actually want?”

Aron did not back down, a determined look steeled in his eyes.

“I’m fucking serious, Jorel. As serious as I’ll ever be. I even swear on my _and_ Chloe’s life that I’m being serious. I _saw_ it! I _know_ that Daniel Murillo is not fucking human!”

Jorel sobered up immediately, his laughter halting abruptly. Shit, Aron was being serious. Aron swearing on his own life was no big deal - but he had also sworn on Chloe’s life. That was a big deal. Aron would never swear on his sister’s life unless it was of extreme necessity.

“W-what?” Was all Jorel could stutter out.

Aron nervously glanced at his watch. The digital figures read 4:32 am. He looked back up to face Jorel.

“He’s a zombie. An undead. He’s supposed to be dead but he’s not. Just watch him - you’ll notice that he will never touch a vegetable, doesn’t need sleep and has fucking superhuman strength!” Aron pressed, “These sort of undeads are dangerous, Jorel! Please fucking believe me!” The last part came out as a desperate begging.

Jorel was stunned. As much as he hated to admit it - Aron did appear to be telling the truth. Man couldn’t act for shit. Lying was even more difficult for him.

But was Jorel going to take a warning from a traitorous ex-bandmate claiming that his replacement is a zombie at 4am in the morning?

No-

Okay, yes.

Yes, because his years of friendship with Aron told him, deep from his gut, that Aron was not fibbing. As much as he detetsed the horse-faced male, he could not deny that Aron was likely telling the truth.

“Are you drunk?” Was the only logical response Jorel could give.

Aron shook his head firmly.

“No, haven’t drunk since I quit,” he muttered, before checking his watch once more, “Look, I need to go and meet Yuma and the rest at the airport now. We’re headed to Vegas for a performance-”

“I don’t care.”

“-And I’ll email you what I know about this in a few days time! I promise! Just, please, please, _please_ , Jorel, fucking watch out for Murillo. I don’t want you eaten! He’s dangerous!”

Jorel was kind of struck dumb. He managed out a confused “okay”.

“Thanks!” Aron cried, “Watch out, okay? And - if zombies attack, you gotta fucking bash their head in, okay? Lump the guy’s head if he stops being human-like. Take care!” Aron was already back-peddling out of Jorel’s front yard. The lanky man finally, with a wave goodbye to Jorel, turned, and fled.

Jorel was left blinking in stunned silence, staring blankly at his lawn at 4:35 am in the morning.

Zombies? Undead? Lump whose head?

His Friday night (or Saturday morning) was just ruined.

-

“Hey, J-Dog.”

Jorel turned to face Jordon who sidled up next to him on the barstool.

“‘Sup, Sheen?”

Jordon snorted, cracking open his beer and taking a swig. He paused, contemplating as his eyes followed the ridges of his can, before jerking his head towards the rest of the band which was engaged in a game of pool. Dylan was hollering about a complex shot he had made while the rest clapped supportively.

Jorel’s eyes unconsciously wandered to their newest member. Danny was dressed in a sleeveless hoodie again. His brown eyes were bright, dancing with mirth as he watched Dylan’s antics, amused. His lips were pulled in an amiable, friendly smile. His expression was sincere. Such lively features - surely Aron must have been mistaken? How could a dead person show so much emotion?

It had only been a week since Aron had turned up uninvited on his doorstep at 4 in the fucking morning, but the endless echo of ‘He’s dangerous!’ constantly filled his mind.

“Yeah, what about them?” Jorel hummed, tearing his gaze away from Danny, to face Jordon once more.

Jordon gave Danny a strange kind of side-glance before leaning in towards Jorel.

“Dude, why do you keep eyeballing the new guy? D’you think he’s cute?”

Jorel jerked back as if he had been burned, eyes widening and eyebrows shooting up. He had not been aware of his attention towards the new lead singer and _definitely_ did not expect his concerns to have been misinterpreted to be that of romantic interest.

He also felt slightly outraged for Jordon for _suggesting_ or _implying_ that he was gay.

“Bro, what the fuck?” Jorel hissed, “I’m not fucking gay!”

Jordon looked sincerely apologetic. “Oh, my bad. I thought you changed gender interest after that break up with Vanessa... and you did seem to keep checking him out. I just thought-”

Jorel’s patience had worn thin. He let out a heavy, stressed sigh before downing the cup of whiskey he had had, gulping its contents down. The smell of acrid gasoline filled his nose, the burn from the whiskey soothed the ache from his chest. With a clank, he put the cup back onto the counter.

“Jordon, I-”

“You should totally talk to him, though!” Jordon interrupted.

Jorel raised an eyebrow, seeking explanation.

“You’ve been so cold and unfriendly to him since he joined! Guy’s worried that you hate him or something. Go chat with him or something.” Jordon elaborated before pausing again, “Honestly, George and I actually suspected that you had the hots for Danny because of how you acted around him - avoiding him and shit - and checking him out 24/7.”

Jorel was aghast, colouring red. “Y-you and _George?_ ” He spluttered before taking another long drink. “What the fuck,” he muttered.

Jordon nodded. “And,” the lead rapper whispered, leaning in, “I heard he swings the opposite way. They say he was with some Kenny Roddy or something. Rumours only but, yeah.”  
Shaking his head, Jorel lightly shoved Jordon. “You’ve had too much drink,” he said, “I’m not into anyone right now.”

-

Truth to be told, Jorel _had_ spent a lot of time in the past week watching the activities of the newest member. He was only trying to identify the traits mentioned by Aron. So far, he had observed that the lead singer really did not touch vegetables at all - but then again, he didn’t really touch anything at all. The guy ate _Soylent_ , a nutritional supplement to food. There was no way to confirm if Danny would eat a vegetable.

It was hard to tell if Danny slept at all or had superstrength. For one, Danny could easily feign sleep at night and for another, when would one ever need to show off inhuman power-lifting in daily life?

Jorel was frustrated. To make matters worse, the new member was also awfully nice. He was a really sweet male, with kind, friendly brown eyes that twinkled with mischief yet were sincere and gentle. Danny was also considerate, and a fun guy to be around. He was fucking Mr. Perfect with no faults.

It made him want to tear his hair out.

His only proof that Danny was a zombie was that Danny was too good at being human.

He had not received anything from Aron yet, besides a text that informed him that he’d be busy for a while and wouldn’t have time to relay info yet.

Jorel groaned.

-

Third week in, Jorel was in for a horrid surprise.

“I’m going to ask him out.”

Jorel snapped up from where he had been messing around with the syth, to look at his friend, Dylan.

Dylan was standing over the syth, elbows propped on its ledge. He had a love-struck kind of look to him, not unlike the time he had fallen in love with his previous girlfriend. His eyes had a far-away look to them, dreamy, like a highschool girl in love.

“Who?” Jorel asked, genuinely curious, tracking Dylan’s line of gaze to see Matt at the drum set behind them. “Matt?”

Dylan snorted, swatting at him. “‘Course not - I meant Danny.”

Danny suddenly popped up from where he had been crouched down behind the drums, a stick in hand. He returned it to Matt.

The blood drained from Jorel’s face.

“Oh.” Was all he could say, “Oh, right.”

Dylan hummed. “He’s so fucking cute. Could make him my bae. #1 homie. Best bae-homie. I would-”

Jorel stopped listening. Instead, his mind was whirling away at the outcomes of a relationship between the suspected zombie and Dylan. The two would spend _alone_ time together. What did Dylan have against superhuman strength? Especially if caught off-guard? Shit. Dylan could _not_ end up dating Danny. It would pose too much of a threat to him.

“No!” Jorel snapped, “You can’t date Danny Murillo!”

Dylan instantly shut up, mouth clamping shut, confused and hurt-looking.

“Why not?” Dylan demanded, upset.

Jorel grimaced. His thoughts were zig-zaging through his head. How best to protect his friends? How best to keep the zombie threat away from the band?

“Because _I_ want to do it, okay?”

Dylan’s eyes widened comically before a smile split across his face.

“Holy Hell, dude! You too?”

Jorel nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak.

Dylan was already nodding, “I understand, homie. If you’re into the hot singer, I’ll leave him too you.”

“Thanks,” Jorel mumbled, eyes locked on the floor, “that’s… considerate.”

When he finally glanced up at Dylan again, he realised his friend had a strange glint to his eye. It was one full of mischief and up-to-no-good. A stupid grin was also plastered across his face.

Before Jorel could question what the Mexican was plotting, Dylan suddenly sat bolt-straight right up, cupping his mouth with his hands and hollering towards Matt and Danny by the drums.

“ _Calling once, calling twice for a certain Danny Murillo!_ ” Dylan called, “A Jorel Decker is interested in hooking up with your ass!”

Matt and Danny jerked around. Matt had a ‘what the fuck are y’all up to’ frown and Danny simply looked surprised.

Jorel could have died on the spot.

Face heating up, outrage and anger bubbling in his chest, Jorel couldn’t even splutter a denial.

“What the hell are you two up to now?” Matt questioned. Danny had turned a brilliant shade of red, looking almost as embarrassed as Jorel felt.

With a groan, under the weight of Matt’s intense judging look and Dylan’s way-too-positive cheerfulness, Jorel buried his face in his hands. He silently cursed Dylan - though he knew that the other man was simply trying to be selfless and help him, he wished Dylan wasn’t so ‘helpful’.

Dylan thumped Jorel’s back. “Y’know what I think?” He bellowed, “I think the two of you should try and get a drink together tonight!”

Jorel groaned.

To his surprise, Danny actually stepped forward, his demeanour shy, but at the same time, possessing a determined confidence. A blush spread across his cheeks, dusting his ears light pink. Jorel found the doe-like brown eyes meeting his shyly. He stared back, scrutinizing them for any hint of malice or danger. The man before him, though sweet-looking and with a friendly personality, was dangerous. Aron had made it clear.

“Hey, um, Jorel?”

“Yeah?”

“So do you wanna get a drink tonight or…?” Danny trailed off, looking embarrassed. He had a sheepish smile on his face, and looked ever so pure and honest. Jorel flinched internally. What was he to do? He couldn’t reject Danny outright for he wasn’t an asshole and Dylan had outed him.

An advantage of getting together with Danny would be that he could keep an eye on the mother fucker - make sure his undead body wasn’t gonna pull some shit on the band. And he would be around the singer enough to lump his head in if necessary.

Was it truly worth it? Worth letting the rest think his heterosexual ass was gay? It would be like lying to them. But it would be lying to them for their own good.

“Yeah, sure,” Jorel replied, nodding, “I’ll message you the place?”

“Okay,” Danny blushed again, “It’s a date - see you later!”

With that, the brunette skipped out of the door. Matt whistled, pulling his phone out - definitely to update the rest about the newest events that had unfolded. Dylan sauntered up next to Jorel and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Whaddya think?” Dylan asked, winking, “I’m the best wingman ever.”

Later, Jorel would tell himself that his response of tackling Dylan to the floor and pinning him there was completely justified.

-

“So,” George said idly, coming through the door of their shared hotel room, “You and Danny.”

Jorel had been fixing up his hair in the mirror. It didn’t really need much work but he wanted it to look neat anyway. Just because he was going on a date with a zombie for beneficial purposes and protection of himself and the band, with absolutely no romantic interest in his date, didn’t mean that he would be a jerk. No, a date was a date and he would be prepared for it.

“Yeah,” Jorel said, rinsing his comb, “Me and Danny.”

He peeped at the taller man who fished for a razor and shaving cream in their toiletries bag, but found his expression unreadable. He feared as much - George was skeptical. While Jorel didn’t actually want to convince him of his undying love for the new singer, he couldn’t seem fishy.

“I didn’t realise you were into guys.”

Jorel coughed.

“I didn’t realise either,” he cleared his throat, tossing the comb onto the marble counter. Quickly, he grabbed his coat from the stainless steel hook on the wall and fled the hotel room.

-

The taxi was stuck in traffic. According to the radio, a crash between a lorry and a car had caused a five-vehicle pile up, narrowing the road and slowing traffic. In the past half an hour, the cab had barely crawled a kilometre and Jorel had scrolled through Instagram twice.

He had agreed to meet Danny for dinner in a bistro at 6.30pm before they headed to a bar nearby. Time was ticking into the last quarter of 5 o’clock and Jorel was still a good distance away.

And, boy, was he bored. There was only so much content he could view on his phone. He had messaged Jordon for the first half of the trip but Jordon had gone and met Matt and George for dinner. He envied them. They were having a guy’s night out without him - and he’d be stuck on a date he didn’t want, with a dangerous humanoid creature that he couldn’t figure out.

A notification for an email popped up.

It was from Aron.

Jorel glanced up. The driver was staring out of the window, tapping restlessly on the steering wheel as he inched the cab forward. A real snail’s crawl of traffic.

He glanced back down and read the email.

 _Jorel_ , it began.

_  
You may not believe me - I find this incredible and incredulous myself, too. But I hope you understand and trust me, for the contents of this email are very real. Please, believe what I am to tell you for your safety and to better your understanding of the scenario._

_I am currently in Oklahoma. I do not have much time to write this email, thus, this will be followed up by a second one with more description and explanation. Today’s is merely a brief, overall run-through on the happenings._

_In May, Yuma, Gadjet, Chloe and I met another group who called themselves the KiaC. Long story short, Nine Lives was out drinking and messing around when we were attacked by zombies. I couldn’t believe it - fucking **zombies** , y’know? But it was all so real. Gadjet has a scar from where one had clawed him deep._

_Our asses were saved by the members of the KiaC. They fought off the zombies and rescued us. After that, we were taught shit about zombies, taught how to fight against them, taught how to spot them._

_Zombies are made when the soul leaves the body and the brain has died. However, the heart continues to beat. No one knows why or how they are formed. But these creatures are dangerous. They will mindlessly attack living humans for a go at their brains. The only way to fight them off is to bash their heads in._

_Another identifying feature is what we call ‘Satan’s Mark’, a small, black inking on the side of their head._

_Danny Murillo died in June. I saw him. He leapt off a bridge back in LA. He had died for sure - the police set up a tent and everything. All I felt was sympathy then._

_Then he turned up and became part of the HU crew._

_He’s dead. I know he is. Yet he turned up, alive. He has the Satan’s Mark._

_I had not warned you earlier for I was unsure on the situation. It is extremely peculiar. You see, when a zombie becomes a zombie, they **mindlessly** attack. They do not think. They do not feel. Yet, Daniel Murillo came back from the dead, is a zombie, speaking perfectly fine and managing to audition for our crew._

_I decided to monitor the situation. Anyway, he did not seem to be harmful - he was still relatively out of sight from the band and wasn’t around enough to harm you guys._

_But now he is in the band and that’s dangerous._

_You must remember, Jorel, these creatures would **tear** apart others to consume, shred them like they are poultry. I have had the unfortunate experience of witnessing these._

_Till next time, my friend. For now, make sure he doesn’t harm the band and have a heavy object at ready. He may be an abnormality but we don’t know what threats he pose. Stay safe._

_Aron._

__

Jorel stared before scrolling to the top and re-reading the message again. 

Daniel Murillo was a fucking abnormal zombie. He might eat them or worse. He had killed himself and come back from the dead.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and stared at the grainy roof of the cab. Why did things like that have to happen to him?

-

Dinner had gone well. They had chatted about their interests, talked loosely about the band, and found mutual interest in rescuing animals. Jorel had extremely mixed feelings. It was very hard not to like Danny Murillo, who was blessedly Mr Perfect - sweet, kind, friendly, genuine. At the same time, he was unable to be fully friendly and at ease while eating with _a superhuman zombie_.

Now, they were seated in a booth, in a little bar. Apparently, Danny enjoyed sinfully sweet drinks - the kind that contained more sugar syrup and preserved fruits than actual liquor. His glass, which twinkled in the sweeping lights, contained a blue liquid with froth and a lump of jelly at the bottom. Danny had told him what it was it but Jorel hadn’t quite caught its name.

“Hey.”

Danny inched closer to him, gripping his glass.

Jorel forced himself not to recoil from the _monster_. “Yeah?” He asked, struggling to sound natural and unthreatened. The lead singer and resident zombie was in too-close proximity, alone with him in a booth, tucked away from prying eyes in the bar’s corner.

“How did Dylan end up professing your… uh… interest in me?” Danny sounded embarrassed and he hid his face in his drink afterwards. A part of Jorel cooed at his cuteness while the other side wrestled his people-side away, demanding logic to be called forth. He had to remember, he told himself, that he was facing an unknown, undead creature, parading as a normal human. He could not let his guard down.

Jorel took a long drink.

“Well, uh,” he started off, “we kinda just talked about you and, Dylan being Dylan…”

Danny nodded sympathetically, humming.

After concealed squinting, Jorel had noticed the little mark on the side of Danny’s head. It was small, similar to a mole or large blackhead. Effort had been made to conceal it for Danny had gotten a tattoo there, the ink splaying out above the ‘Satan’s Mark’. He did not know how he felt about that. 

Zombies could be dangerous. They ate people. However, according to Aron, a bat to their heads would do the trick. Unfortunately, Weasel-face was unaware on the weaknesses of an abnormal zombie. Also, an intelligent zombie, capable to trying to conceal their identity, was definitely far more dangerous than a mindless beast-like one.

“Is this, like, a crush kind of thing or a long-term kind of thing?” Danny questioned. If it had been anyone else, Jorel would have found them arrogant. However, Danny possessed a genuine tone, as though he was legitimately curious.

“Um, I…” Jorel bit his lip, “I don’t know.”

 _I don’t actually like you but I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t gorge on my friends_ , his mind supplied. He silenced that thought instantly.

Danny peered at him. “So… are we gonna do the dating thing? I don’t mind, by the way,” he quickly added the last part.

“Yeah, um, yeah. Let’s do that,” Jorel mumbled.

“So we’ll try going out and doing couple-y stuff?”

“I guess.”

“Is this your first time with a guy?”

“Yeah. You?”

“No, not really. It’s pretty similar to being with a girl, really, just more chill - I find, at least.”

Jorel was surprised when Danny laid his hand over his. He forced himself not to jerk away in horror and to relax his muscles. He studied their hands over each other - Danny’s hand was smaller than his, with clever-looking fingers.

“I see,” Jorel managed out, swallowing more liquid courage. Oh, if only he could go home and drown his problems in a sea of alcohol and find answers at the bottom of his J.D. right there and then.

Danny had begun stroking his hand with a thump - and it felt _nice_.

He shook his head, collecting himself.

He could do this. For the benefit of the band, he would date Danny Murillo - keep a close watch on him and be ready to lump his head in should he pose a threat. That’d be the plan till Aron could send over more info his way and then they could plan further actions.

For now, he just had to keep his act up.

He could do this.

He totally could.

-

The original plan did _not_ include Danny Murillo becoming his fucking best friend. But somehow he had.

Maybe it was the time spent together but Jorel had grown horribly close to the singer.

If one asked, he could name all of Danny’s favourite brands of jam, how many pairs of socks he owned and which were his top 30 favourite movies.

They had gotten to a point where they’d let themselves into each other’s houses whenever they felt like it. Jorel had gotten used to coming home to find a certain brunette cooking them dinner on his stove. Danny preferred using Jorel’s kitchen because “it was airier”.

Oh, and because Jorel had a microwave oven.

They hung out a lot. Jorel found that he had actually grown onto the singer. He had become fond of him, wholly enjoying his sincere, warm company. There were no expectations that needed to be fulfilled in Danny’s presence. He was who he was, hiding nothing from the other.

But Danny Murillo was still a zombie and Jorel could never quite shake the fear of him.

He had begun wishing, over the past few months, that Danny had somehow simply _converted_ into a regular human. If such a thing had happened, Jorel was sure that he’d praise every lord he knew. Danny was a fucking angel, a godsend. He was a pure, good person who would not hurt others. Hell, he was the kind of person to stop his car just to rescue a kitten from the road.

There was simply no way Danny could be the monster that shredded others that Aron talked about.

Another thing was that Danny had never brought up his suicide or past problems to Jorel. He’d think that since they had become such close confidants, Danny would talk about those to him. But he didn’t. It really made Jorel wonder - what had driven the angel of a man to kill himself in June the previous year? What must he have suffered to consider taking his own life?

And why was he brought back to continue living? Who in their right mind would bring back a suicider to life? Why?

In the past few months, their relationship had developed a lot. They held hands, occasionally pecked each other on the lips, curled up together to watch Netflix, and paid no mind to the other as one showered while the other one peed in the same toilet.

They cuddled when they slept, too.

And, maybe Jorel prayed every night that Danny Murillo wasn’t who Aron said he was. He may have prayed every night for Danny to be a perfectly regular guy, the guy he portrayed himself to be, and the guy he had fallen for.

Because, admittedly, Jorel had grown to become head-over-heels with him.

-

Aron burst into his house, finally, eight months after he had first warned Jorel of Danny the Zombie.

Jorel had been making a sandwich and begrudgingly split it in half for the lanky man to have as they sat down on his couch to talk things over.

“This better be good. It’s been eight months,” Jorel muttered crossly, taking a huge bite from his sandwich.

Aron shoved the bunch of papers that he had carried towards Jorel. “It’s good. It’s actually good.”

With a muffled protest - his bread was still in his mouth, Jorel began leafing through the pages. The first few pages were print-outs with information of Daniel Rose Murillo. Born November 21. Blah, blah, blah, he knew all of that.

It was the last page that caught his attention.

 **Abnormalities** , it read in bold.

He quickly skimmed through the short report.

_Not much research has been done on abnormalities due to a lack of specimen. A recent 2008 study suggests that these abnormalities often have unfinished business or regrets in life. A 2005 case study of a Samuel Holmes showed that…_

Jorel skipped over the statistics and studies, choosing to read only the important bits.

_Cases of unfinished business include unrequited love, family debt and, in one isolated case, abuse of children._

He frowned. He couldn’t understand - if Danny had truly committed suicide as Aron had stated, he should not have had any regrets on dying… would he? He wondered what people thought when they offed themselves. Did they regret life or did they look forward to death? He hoped he’d never find out. What sort of unfinished business would Danny have to rise from the dead? Who _was_ Danny Murillo?

He placed the papers down on his lap and looked at Aron who was eagerly leaning forward, waiting for a reaction.

“What?” Jorel asked crossly.

“I have one piece of good news and two pieces of bad news.”

Damn. He needed a little bit of optimism in his life. “Tell me the bad news.”

Aron bounced. “One, is that he will die again. I spoke with members of the KiaC and they said that such zombies are often back to finish what they need to do. Once they finish their business, they will slowly, painfully break down, disintegrate.”

Jorel blinked. No, he must have heard wrongly. What? Danny die? Danny die _again?_ His friend, and now lover, die? And die painfully, too? How could the universe…

He could envision it, playing behind his eyelids. Danny - his love - sprawled out on the ground, crying as his limbs rotted away at inhumane speed, as his second chance in life was ripped away from him.

 _It’s not fucking fair._ his brain supplied.

Aron was evidently unaware of his relationship with Danny and continued on, “A second piece of bad news is that he is still a zombie and needs to eat.”

“What does that mean?” Jorel asked coldly. He had shoved his emotions aside for now.

“He has gone almost ten months without eating anything sustainable. He will attack soon. And when he attacks, he will be completely brainless, not like the composed, cool abnormality we see now.”

Jorel shut his eyes and took a breath.

“The good news?”

“The organisation can have him locked up. I can send in a tip-off on an abnorma-”

Jorel’s eyes snapped open.

“No,” he said sternly, his voice betraying his mind’s insistence of staying calm.

Aron looked shocked. “He’s a danger. Having him put away can-”

“Get out of my house.”

“Jorel, he could _hurt_ you.”

“Out.”

“ _Jorel_.”

“Get the fuck off my property, Aron.”

Aron fled.

Jorel slumped back into his seat, and with a suffering cry, buried his face into the cushions and screamed for everything to just magically right itself because the universe is unfair and cruel.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have cried while writing the ending. Even though it was poorly written and did not express as much as I would have liked, it made me remember my recent losses and I couldn't help myself. It stung so much.
> 
> Anyway, as with the last chapter, this is poorly written but yeah.
> 
> See the end notes for some ideas I wanna try.

It was decided - life sucked. The universe was rigged against him. And it was rigged against Daniel Murillo.

His heart was thrumming in his chest, blood coursing at high speed, a panic attack imminent. A cloudy haze had settled over his mind, his brain whirling away at high speed as he processed the information that had been dumped onto him earlier that day.

Danny was a zombie. An abnormal zombie, back from the dead to finish some business. He would also go on a rampage soon, endangering the lives of others.

Sweet, pure Danny was going to rampage, and according to Aron, his consent would not play any role in it.

Would Danny be aware - he wondered - would he be aware that he was attacking the rest?

What was Danny back from the dead for?

Why did everything happen?

Jorel cringed, clenching his fist so tightly that the veins popped up. He dug his fingernails into his palm, burying them deep. The pain grounded him a little, stopped him from shaking apart.

He needed to talk to Danny. He needed answers. He needed to know. He needed to help.

The key to the singer’s apartment in his pocket, Jorel hailed a cab to the quaint row of flats in the middle-class district of town. The sun was bright, beating down - mismatching his mood horrendously. He shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare after paying the fare and hopping out of the cab.

The building towered over him. He had been to Danny’s apartment countless times before but today, it no longer seemed like his regular chill-out place. Instead, it loomed, intimidating, an aura of evil and uncertainty swarming around.

Despite the fierce sun’s rays, Jorel felt his internal temperature drop as he approached. Every step sent a new wave of chills down his spine.

Dread, determination. Fright, excitement. Grief, closure.

Danny’s apartment was on the fifth floor. He scaled the rickety, creaky flight of wooden steps, his footsteps ringing out on the hollow floor.

His stomach was rolling, heart lurching in his throat.

He felt like a convict making his way to the gallows.

The door to Danny’s house was a plain wooden thing with metallic numbers pronouncing _#05-12: Murillo_. He traced the familiar wood with a shaky hand, reading the tag again and again, a pathetic excuse, a pathetic distraction from facing Danny.

 _Jorel,_ he chided himself, _Jorel, fucking grow a pair already._

He knocked once, twice, three times to let the occupant know he was entering before unlocking the door and entering.

Danny’s house was impeccably neat as always. It was sparsely decorated - with few decorations and comforts. His living space was not large but it appeared rather spacious due to the lack of furniture - a small satellite TV sat on a cabinet, a worn bean bag before it; a coats and bags hung from a hook on the wall and a shoe rack stood next to the wall.

The only sentimental items in Danny’s house were a photo album he kept, neatly tucked into his cabinet, and thr various gifts that Jorel had given him, proudly displayed on the counter of his kitchenette.

As always, the lighting was horrible, shadows casting across the ground, two oddly-placed bare bulbs humming away from the ceiling.

Danny was in the kitchenette, singing as a pan sizzled. Jorel recognised the song as _Lump Your Head_ , a song that they had recently written to be part of their first album without Aron. The song was still a draft - they weren’t even sure if they’d put it in the album yet.

 _U-N to the D-E-A-D_ had been Danny’s lyrics at the end of the song. It wasn’t funny anymore.

Jorel approached, determined but nervous. His feet skidded as he stepped into the kitchenette.

Danny was in a T-shirt and shorts, poking tomatoes around on the frying pan with a fork. He glanced up at Jorel and a bright smile split across his face. “What’s up, J-Dog?”

Jorel wanted to beam back, smile reassuringly or just have a normal, fun day with Danny again. But he couldn’t. The awful feeling of sickness and worry splashed around in his heart. With a grimace, he tried to keep his voice even as he spoke, “Danny, we need to talk.”

The singer looked surprised but he nodded, shutting off the stove and leading Jorel to the shoe-box bedroom. The bedroom, as Jorel remembered, was even more dimly lit than the rest of the house, blinds sealing it from the natural light that’d pour in through the window. Besides a rickety, old wardrobe and a wire-framed bed, there was little room for anything else. 

Danny sat Jorel down on the bed before taking a seat next to him. The bedframe protested under their weight.

“So,” Danny smiled, obviously trying to lighten the mood, “What’s up?”

His tongue felt lodged in his throat. His mouth was dry. Jorel studied Danny’s face - radiating both concern and patience.

Conflicting emotions ran wild through him.

_Monster._

_Love._

_Zombie._

_Beauty._

_Danger._

_Angel._

He had to do it.

“Danny,” Jorel began. He wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. What was he to say? What was not weird to say? What if Aron had been trolling him the whole time and he’d look like a complete idiot to Danny? What the fuck? He cleared his throat and tried again, “Danny, I have come under the impression that you aren’t… really… like me.”

Jorel managed it out but instantly wanted to throw himself off the building.

Danny’s face morphed from concern to something darker, an expression he had never seen on his love before. Danny’s eyes had gotten dark, his pupils constricted, jaw hardening and brows set into a frown.

Jorel shivered.

“Why do you think that?” was Danny’s emotionless response.

The bassist gulped as he responded. “Aron, Deuce, he said he saw you… die. And then you didn’t.”

Danny turned away, no longer meeting his gaze, dropping to stare at his hands wrung together in his lap. He looked troubled, ashamed, pained and at the same time, relieved. Jorel instinctively reached out for him, but retracted his hand at the last moment, sensing that it was not a good move to make.

A thick silence ensued. Jorel could hear his heart echoing in the dense silence, thumping away loudly. The quietness was almost deafening. Suspense settled, lining the air.

When Danny finally looked back up, his thoughts seemingly collected, he had a wry smile on his face.

“Hey,” he began softly, “I’m sorry for not being completely honest with you.”

Jorel swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

Danny chewed his lip before he spoke again. “How much do you know?”

Thinking over it, Jorel didn’t actually know _much_. But at the same time, it seemed like too much. Too much information. He didn’t know enough to solve anything but was well-aware that what he knew was damning to him and Danny.

“I know you took your life in June last year,” Jorel began, wringing his hands together, “And you came back to life afterwards.” Danny’s look darkened. “You’re back because you have something you need to accomplish...”

It was so quiet, one could hear a pin drop.

With a heavy sigh, Danny landed hard on the bed with a _thump_. His eyes slipped shut and he seemed to surrender himself to the reality before staring at the ceiling and talking.

“The story starts in 2008,” Danny said simply.

“Okay,” Jorel replied.

“My best friend, my world back then, was murdered.”

“Oh.” Jorel didn’t know how to respond.

Danny smiled grimly. “He was a good guy - we helped each other out of depression and stuff. He had lost his family and a leg to a car accident. We were so damn close, like brothers, like family.” Danny took a deep breath, his voice quivering slightly, “He convinced me to go to music school. He was the whole reason I began learning music. Talented fucker, he was.”

Jorel watched Danny carefully, gauging the mood, ready to provide emotional support if needed.

“He… he wrote music. He would have gotten famous, I know. He approached some labels with his songs - but they rejected them. I couldn’t believe it. Those songs - they were amazing. They would have earned the label thousands. But they rejected them - I didn’t understand why. And then I did. He was gay and the label was staffed with homophobic fucks.

A week after he went out seeking labels and record deals, he died. Failed robbery - the police called it. Stabbed 12 times in the back on his way home, all the papers, the scores he wrote, were all nicked. The ‘robbers’ took his scores but not his wallet and phone. It was unbelievable.”

Tears had welled up in the beautiful brown eyes that Jorel had grown to adore. Without thinking, Jorel leaned over and brushed them away with a thumb, before gently grasping Danny’s hand encouragingly.

Danny smiled gratefully, and took a shuddering breath.

“I approached the label which I suspected orchestrated the whole thing. I _knew_ it was them but the cops wouldn’t fucking believe me. I failed to salvage his works and to bring justice to his death. Worse - the damn label found out that I had tried to usurp them and sued me. I lost everything. I had no money, no home, and my best friend was dead.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt and grief was killing me. One day, I heard some of his songs playing on the damn radio and I couldn’t deal. It was so unfair. The injustice. Those fucks were making money off _his_ songs, after _murdering_ him. Horrid, horrid people. My faith in humanity was lost.

So I killed myself. I jumped. I was done. Or, at least I thought so.

I woke up in a morgue. I was surrounded by dead bodies everywhere. I was confused, frightened, cold. I had _died_ but at the same time, I hadn’t. Shaken, I simply fled.

Dying changes your mind in a way. I realised that, if I couldn’t retrieve his songs and music, I would write for him, with his influence, to honour him. I wasn’t believed back then for I was a nobody - so I thought, if I could get successful enough, I could get a good lawyer to sue that damn company. And here I am today. Dead but not quite. Quite funny, y’know, an undead being in Hollywood Undead? I think I’ve achieved what I came back for - some of the songs in _American Tragedy_ that I - we - wrote are actually tributes to him. Satisfaction and closure had been achieved.

But it was so strange - being undead. I never needed to sleep. I never needed to eat - in fact, regular food tasted like cardboard in my mouth and I’d sick it up soon after. Sleep was unnatural, too.

And I never stopped hungering for something. I don’t know what but I was eternally hollow, hungry, desperate for something - but I honest to God, have no idea what.”

Jorel was stunned. He didn’t know how to react. What a life. How had Danny dealt with such emotions alone? Kept so much to himself? Buried all his feelings?

“You need a hug,” Jorel managed out as firmly as he could, spreading his arms.

Danny blinked, the tears were spilling freely now, rolling down his paled cheeks. “Yeah,” he said, voice breaking, “I suppose I do.”

They embraced tightly - Danny clinging on for dear life, and Jorel clutching as hard as he could, trying to prevent the other from shaking apart, trying desperately to hold the other together. Sobs racked the singer’s body as he sobbed into Jorel’s shoulder.

Jorel pained for Danny. He wanted to take away all his love’s grief, he wanted the universe to stop tormenting the poor boy who had lost so much and suffered too much. He wanted nothing more than for things to be okay.

Yet, things were not over yet. Danny’s confession was not the end. Jorel had a sickening feeling that Danny was unaware of his inevitable re-death and rampage.

He urgently needed to inform Danny of the future happenings, but at the same time, the words lodged in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t further burden the other with the weight of such information. He couldn’t dump more on Danny who was already being slowly crushed but everything that had been amassed atop him.

But he had to. It was only right.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Jorel said quietly.

Danny sniffled and hiccuped but he schooled himself steady. He was tense in Jorel’s arms, already sensing that bad news was coming forth.

“Zombies exist. Aron said that they are mindless brain-eating creatures that will attack humans for food.” Jorel began evenly, “And… while you are an abnormality, you aren’t an exception.”

Danny stiffened.

“Aron says…” Jorel’s nose had gone sour, he was on the verge of tears himself, his voice rough, “Soon, you’ll rampage and attack others.”

The next few words tasted like acid in his mouth.

“And after that, you’ll slowly and painfully die.”

The man in his arms made a tortured-sounding whimper before moaning in pain.

“No,” Danny whispered.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no, no, no, _no_!”

Danny shoved off from him, violently pushing Jorel away and retracting back as far as he could. Jorel watched, stunned, as the smaller male curled up into himself in the far corner of the room, trembling and shaking.

“Danny-”

“I can’t!” Danny looked up at him, brown eyes full of grief and anguish, “I can’t do that! I don’t want to hurt anyone!” Tears spilled. “I don’t want to hurt _you_.”

Jorel pained. “Danny, I kno-”

“Please leave, Jorel.”

“Danny, let me hel-”

“Jorel,” Danny whispered, “You heard Aron. I will become a mindless beast and attack people. I will do that. I- I need to put myself far away. I can’t be a danger to others. I can’t.”

Agonizing grief bubbled in Jorel’s chest. A painful, suffocating feeling. It was like oxygen had been replaced with ice-cold knives, filling his lungs and stabbing outwards. Breathing raked pain in his throat and body.

“I can’t do that Jorel, please. I can’t-”

 _Ding dong_.

Jorel snapped around, hearing the doorbell to Danny’s house ring. He glanced at Danny in confusion - who could be visiting at such an hour? He was also torn - now was definitely not the right time for Danny to entertain any visitors. How would they explain whatever was going on?

He shot a desperate look at Danny who only stared back blankly, face completely void of emotion. He looked as though he had zoned out completely, head lolling to one side, eyes distant. The shock must have had been too much.

“I’ll tell ‘em to go away,” Jorel mumbled, wiping furiously at his tears. He forced himself up and robotically made his way to the door, feeling oddly numb.

The door swung open and Jorel was tackled to the floor.

“Surprise!” Jordon hollered.

Jorel’s eyes bulged out of his sockets. “What are you-” he glanced over Jordon’s body to see the rest of the band filtering into the house through the doorway, “what are all of you doing here?”

Dylan made a tsk-ing noise, shaking his head. “Did you forget your own birthday, homie?”

His birthday. Right. It was the first of May. He hadn’t even realised it. How did days blend into one another for him? He had been so out of it since Aron’s visit a few days back that he had completely forgotten his birthday.

“Yeah?” He said, anxiety pooling in his gut.

Now was not a fucking good time. The universe had shit timing. The rest had no idea how serious of a situation he and Danny were in and how much they needed to fucking _leave_ so Danny and him could sort things out.

“We went to your place but you weren’t there,” George explained, bending over to help Jorel up, “So we thought that you’d be here.”

“And we brought drinks!” Jordon added, holding up a six-pack.

Matt simply pulled out his phone and snapped a selfie, with the rest of the band in the background. “Snapchat,” he explained simply.

They needed to leave. Danny was in no condition to entertain guests.

“Hey, where’s Danny?” Dylan traipsed further into Danny’s house, plopping himself onto the beanbag before the TV set.

“I’ll go get him!” Jordon called, making his way towards the bedroom. Jorel’s eyes buldged. He tried to get up and yell for Jordon to stop but he was silenced by a heavy thump to his back by George.

“J, you’re 26 this year. How does it feel to be closer to your late twenties?” George gravelled.

Jorel was panicking. He didn’t know what to do. They needed to get the _fuck_ out of there-

Jordon’s scream pierced the air.

Jorel’s heart froze.

The rest of the band looked shocked and confused. Dylan glanced at Jorel for answers but all Jorel could do was stare back. Danny couldn’t possibly- no, it was too soon. He had only found out. How could this happen? It wasn’t possible-

Jordon was yelling now and banging and thumping rang out from the bedroom. George and Dylan quickly leapt to their feet and dashed for the bedroom while Matt turned to grab a skateboard lying on the ground as a weapon.

Jorel was frozen in shock and horror.

The cries were getting more and more audible, registering in his stunned mind.

_”Danny! What the fuck are you doing? Danny! Stop! George- get him off!”_

_“What the actual fuck! DANNY?”_

_“Hold him- HOLD HIM!”_

A piercing scream of pain ricocheted about the flat. A loud thump was heard and a pained cry from Dylan was heard. A frantic yell was heard from George before he was sent flying out of the bedroom, landing with a sickening _crack_ on the floor. Fucking hell - Danny had super strength.

Jorel was torn. There wasn’t time to explain. He had to defend and save the band. He had to bash Danny’s head in. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to Danny. With a startling realisation, that felt like an ice-cold shower, it dawned that he had lost Danny already.

Daniel Murillo. The man who deserved absolutely nothing that had come his way, who had suffered a cruel life and _ended his life_ , only to be brought back to die once more, who would never harm anyone willingly, was to hurt everyone because life was cruel and loved being an absolute bitch to him.

Danny, the sweet, angelic, caring person he had fallen for was gone. Lost in a haze of need and instinct.

Jorel made his decision. He would, for the sake for Danny, end his second life. It was the biggest mercy he could give Danny. Danny would never have wanted to hurt anyone. And to stop him, Jorel would need to end him.

Feeling numb, detached from reality, Jorel shakily got up and wrenched the skateboard from Matt’s arms. A part of his barely-functioning mind registered that it was Danny’s favourite board but he shoved the thought away. Matt was calling for him, but he ignored it, stalking towards the bedroom.

Dylan had an arm locked around Danny’s neck, wrenching away, muscles straining and bulging, desperately yelling, as the smaller male dug his teeth into Jordon’s side. Jordon was screaming, squealing in pain and shock. 

Danny’s eyes were dark. His features had turned haunted - a ghost of a person. There was not a trace of humanity on his face, hunger filling his eyes, savageous, a _beast_. Jorel’s heart dropped.

Danny reached around and grasped Dylan’s hand, simply tearing him away from his own body and throwing him harshly onto the ground. Dylan cried out in pain.

His heart was thumping in his ears. _For Danny,_ Jorel’s mind whispered, _Do this for him_.

Jorel charged into the room, feet slapping onto the ground before he leapt, swinging the skateboard as forcefully as he could, bringing it crashing down onto the side of Danny’s head.

A sickening _crunch_ filled the air and the beast that was once Danny slackened its hold on Jordon.

Jorel paused, disbelieving that he had actually attacked Danny. Was it over?

No.

Zombie-Danny swivelled around and tackled Jorel, arms shooting to snag the arm holding onto the skateboard. With a crunch, Zombie-Danny had wrenched Jorel’s arm to an unnatural angle, snapping the bone.

Jorel was in shock.

Zombie-Danny hung over him, panting, drooling over his face. His eyes were wild, _hungry_. Jorel stared, grief bubbling in his chest. This was his end - failing Danny’s trust. Danny had trusted him to protect the rest from himself. And Jorel had failed. Failed, failed, failed. He had failed his lost love.

Danny suddenly whimpered and was sent flying off him.

George quickly bent over and grabbed Jorel, yanking him to his feet and dragging him out of the room.

“Run!” George yelled, “Fucking RUN!”

Jorel’s arm screamed in agony but he barely felt it. The only thing he could feel was crushing grief. Suffocating disappointment. Overwhelming anguish.

He tore himself from George’s grip.

“Grab Jordon!” He yelled before using his good arm to grab the vase of flowers that stood at the doorway to the bedroom. He dumped the flowers and water out, they fell in a messy heap. Jorel hefted the heavy porcelain vase up and gripped it tightly.

“Jorel, we can’t overpower him-” George started but Jorel was charging into the room again, swinging the vase and screaming bloody murder.

Zombie-Danny caught his leg and swung him forcefully against the wall. An audible crack was heard and agony shot like wildfire throughout Jorel’s body. His bones felt rattled, cracked. His entire body felt bruised instantaneously. The vase that he had been carrying cracked and broken pieces shot in all directions, tinkling into the ground.

His limbs protesting from the abuse, Jorel forced himself up and rocketed himself once more at Danny, adrenaline thumping in his veins. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop trying until he made sure that Danny’s final fear of harming others would not come true. Determination was his only drive.

He swung again, the cracked vase making contact. Zombie-Danny shrieked, sending a punch into Jorel’s arm, effectively cracking the bone. Jorel barely noticed - he swung the vase again, again and again, Thrashing his once-lover with the heavy vase and praying, praying, praying ever so hard that it’d be over soon.

With a final cry, the beast that had once been Danny slumped to the ground. Dead.

Jorel collapsed.

-

He woke up in the hospital.

Confusion filled his mind. His limbs were numb, everything felt numb and strange. He couldn’t move a single part of his body. Even blinking felt weird. He could feel it - yet he couldn’t. He could feel his eye balls swivelling in his head as he scanned the room.

Why was he there? How did he get there?

George and Matt were in the room - George had an arm cast and was reading a book while Matt used his phone. Both looked haggard and exhausted. Jorel couldn’t figure out why.

And then he remembered. The world came crashing down upon him.

He couldn’t stop himself. A frustrated, agonised cry erupted from his lips, causing George and Matt to snap up and rush to his bedside, concern filling their faces.

Jorel couldn’t stop. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could only moan and make muffled, pained howls, struggling in his unresponsive body. Danny was dead. Danny was gone. Danny was never coming back.

How could Danny be dead? How the fuck could he be gone? What the fuck did it mean that he was dead? How could he just die like that after suffering so much? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, IT WASN’T FAIR.

Pity and concern flitted on Matt’s features as he bent over and laid a hand on Jorel’s bicep, stroking gently and soothingly. Jorel couldn’t feel it, though. He suspected that he had been drugged to relief the pain his body was in from being hurled around and snapped in too many places.

The fact that he had no control over his body - that he couldn’t scream and smash the closest object - made him even more frustrated.

_WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?_

George spoke, slowly, carefully, “Aron told us about what happened.”

Jorel groaned in response, unable to speak. Spit bubbled at his lips and spilt out.

“I’m sorry, Jorel,” George whispered, pain in his eyes. Matt nodded along, eyes swimming with sorrow.

“Whrr ‘s hrrr?” Jorel slurred, desperate.

George looked at Matt before sighing and shaking his head.

“Aron called his zombie-hunting organisation to take his body away. We couldn’t send him to a regular morgue… wouldn’t have been able to explain his condition. That was five days ago.” Matt said quietly.

Jorel could only released a muffled scream.

-

Aron was pushing his wheelchair along the beach, silent. Jorel stared at the waves lapping at the shore, feeling numb and blank. He hadn’t felt much since Danny’s death. All he felt was hollow, shocked, disbelieving.

The grief had cycled him, making him emotionally exhausted and constantly frustrated. One moment he had accepted that Danny was gone, and the next - he suddenly couldn’t believe that Danny was dead. He constantly cycled between grief, anger, frustration and numbness. Swinging back and forth between the various emotions, he was exhausted.

In his lap, sat the aluminium can that contained Danny’s ashes.

Aron had managed to get Danny’s ashes back for him - an act which Jorel had been extremely grateful for but was too numb and exhausted to express fully.

He hadn’t slept much since. Nightmares reliving Danny’s death, he himself bashing Danny to death, kept replaying behind his eyelids at night. Black lined his eyes and he looked haggard, unshaven, unclean.

“Here,” Jorel ordered, emotionless.

Aron stopped the wheelchair and stepped back, giving Jorel space.

Jorel blinked back tears and stared down at the tin. Prying off the lid, he stared at the black mass that had once been sweet, angelic Daniel Murillo. It was so hard to believe that the ashes were Danny. He was holding Danny in his hands. Danny was no more. Danny was gone.

It was so hard to believe.

“Danny,” he whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you suffered all of this. You never deserved all of it. You were the sweetest, kindest, loveliest person I have ever met. I hope that I can spend my next life with you.”

The tears were coming hot and fast now, dripping down his face as he spoke softly to Danny’s ashes.

“In our next life, I swear, we will have the loveliest house, a dog, many cats. We will write so much music, hit up so many parties, cuddle up every night and watch movies. I will cook for you as much as I can and I will never forget to say that I love you.”

He released another wet sob.

“Ever since your death, I haven’t stopped missing you and I will never stop missing you. You were my life, you made that almost one year worth every second. I loved you so much and I will continue to love you. There will never be a day when I wouldn’t think about you and want you back.”

 

He blew a kiss into the can.

“Good bye, Daniel Murillo.”

With a swipe of his hand, he emptied the contents of the can into the sea.

The blue waves twinkled as they carried the ashes away. He stared at them blankly, watching as the waves ever-so-slowly carried Danny away.

He was finally free.

Jorel dropped the can and buried his face in his hands, shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Which idea'd you like to see next:
> 
> A. Stop writing other shit and finish Hear Me Now first
> 
> B. "Levitate" - Jorel's weird psychic friend, Aron, warns him against becoming emotionally attached to George Ragan for 'it'd distrupt nature's course'. Of course, Jorel defies Aron and finds himself stuck in a time loop - the 1st of May repeating itself again and again and again.
> 
> C. "Pour Me" - 'On the 31st of December, Aron Erlichman will kill himself.'  
> Danny needs to ensure that Aron finishes himself off at the end of the year or Hell will break loose on Earth. However, it appears that a certain demon within the band wishes to keep Aron alive to ensure that the Calamity would be brought forth.


End file.
